Something Special  REVISED
by Little Yellow Tiki Hut
Summary: After numerous tragedies, Jolie finds herself in Middle Earth, quite bored, waiting for The War of the Ring. Eighty years can certainly ruin a good time!  BACK AFTER A TWO YEAR HIATUS! Under construction! Original screen name: LilHellraiser
1. Chapter 1

**Something Special - REVISED**

**Author**: Lil-Hellraiser (originally)/Little Yellow Tiki Hut

_**YES, WE ARE THE SAME PERSON.**_

**I am not** ripping this story off of Lil-Hellraiser. _She is me. I am her_. I have created a new account. **THANK YOU FOR UNDERSTANDING**.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing that you recognize from the books, or any of the musical pieces mentioned in this composition. Or the iPod.

**Author's Note**: This is Little Yellow Tiki Hut saying welcome to the adventure! I began this story in the year 2003 and now with more English classes under my belt, the experience of age, and a new screen name, I will commence Operation Revision. Have at it!

* * *

"Ouch!"

Spinning around, I laughed aloud when I saw my best friend, Dana, sprawled out over the slippery sidewalk, books lying on the dying grass next to her. It was October, and an early frost coated the area, making the ground crunchy and speckled with white. It also happened to make sidewalks dangerous turf.

She smiled gratefully as I reached out my chilled hands and pulled her up from the ice-ridden path, snow beginning to fall softly in our hair.

"Geez, I hate this weather!" She muttered angrily as she slipped once more and grabbed my shoulder for support. I smiled brightly.

"I like it, it's calming," I said. Of course, I wasn't one to talk; dear little me hardly ever slipped and fell while Dana seemed to slip and fall multiple times a day with or without ice. That's only because she is the clumsiest person in the world – no lie. She's always tripping down and up the stairs at school, dropping stuff, and falling. Part of me wished that we had a system worked out to prevent accidents, but hey, if it happens, it happens.

"Calming my _ass_." She said, now walking slowly alongside me. "It's horrible. I'm cold and I'm sore and I'm _cold_."

"You said that already," I said offhandedly. She gave me a snotty frown.

"Redheads always have to be the instigators," She muttered, smiling lopsidedly when I huffed and instinctively tugged on my long, red hair.

The wind changed, blowing ferociously against my back and my hair flared out all over the place. Dana, whose hair was currently tied up, snorted in amusement while I rushed to pull my hair back into place with my hand. As the wind grew lighter, I released my hair and pulled out my iPod. As soon as I pressed play and slipped my ear buds in, the raunchy, bold beat of AC/DC drifted through my head.

Without realizing it, I had begun to sing along with Bon Scott to "Jailbreak". Music has, and probably always will be my life. Beethoven, AC/DC, The Spice Girls – okay, _they're_ pushing it – it was all great to me. I could play piano and harp well, and liked singing in school musicals. I didn't have the voice of an angel, no, but I wasn't completely terrible. I had composed many songs on the piano, and always enjoyed fast, emotional pieces such as Fur Elise and Canon. I could play the trap set in the school concerts, and I was trying to learn to play guitar but so far, it was more challenging than I thought it would be. Some of my friends even decided to take up playing an instrument, with my brilliant instruction, and in some cases, I succeeded in teaching them everything there was to know. Take Dana, for example: She's unusually talented, dare I say _gifted_ when it comes to drums. But she always manages to knock over the tambourines or something and sometimes I don't want her to lay a hand on my trap set.

We neared my ranch-style home on the corner and slowed to a stop on the sidewalk. I put my ear buds away and turned to Dana, preparing to thank her for the walk and ask if she remembered our math homework (because I sure as hell didn't). She spoke first.

"Take care of them, okay?" She said, nodding towards the house. I knew what she meant, and a stone simultaneously dropped into my stomach.

I pulled her into a hug, the kind of hug only best friends can share together, and then she pivoted and began the three block trek to her house.

I watched her retreating form even after she had rounded a corner, disappearing from my sight, and thanked God that she was such a good friend.

I entered my house quietly and slipped my frosty shoes off. The curtains were half-drawn, casting shadows on the floor and all I could hear was the wind howling against the foundation, much worse than it had been ten or so minutes ago.

"Mom?" I called, unsure of where she might be. Dark red curls appeared, and my mother was embracing me in a loose, but warm hug. If you had taken a picture of my mother and me side by side, you could probably not tell who was who. We both had the same dark red hair, same cinnamon eyes, and same curvy figure. Our voices were similar, and the only things extremely different about us were our heights. Mom had always been very tall, almost as tall as my dad. She was about 5'10, and I was only 5'3, not too short for being thirteen, but certainly not as tall as her. Some people actually mistook us for twin sisters – mom has always looked young.

Her eyes sparkled with untold joy as she pulled away from me. Mom always had a brilliant innocence in her eyes, however older she became. There were no wrinkles on her skin, no marks on her face. She was so beautiful, even now, when her flawless face was bonier and paler than usual, and her cheeks were tinged with a red, flushed glow. Her body was skinnier, skinnier than I was, and she walked carefully, as if she were a delicate porcelain doll, as if one sudden move could break her clear in two.

Then the coughing came. Hard coughs which racked her body, hunching her over. I patted her back, eyes downcast, waiting for it to stop. The coughs had begun nearly two months prior, and no matter what doctors did, it never ceased. She clutched her chest tightly and willed her breathing back to normal, while I patiently waited. I was used to these coughing fits by now, as they happened several times every day. Sometimes at night I could hear her coughing and gasping, and tried to shut it out of my mind. It could be so haunting.

Slowly but surely, the coughing stopped and Mom straightened up, clearing her throat, breathing in loud shallow breaths. Then she turned to me, smiling, eyes watering up, but still happy. I don't think I ever envied her more than at that moment. It was as if her eyes retained all the beauty in the world.

"Sorry about that, Jo," She said, as if it were nothing more serious than the weather. I gave her a concerned look.

"Why don't you go lie down?" I suggested, hoping that she would so that I wouldn't have to worry about her right then.

"No," She said stubbornly. "I'm fine. When did you get so good at telling me what to do?"

I shrugged. "Grandma?"

"Ugh, that woman!" Mom groaned playfully. "No wonder, I knew you _couldn't_ have gotten it from me." They didn't have an ideal mother-daughter relationship.

A slight smile graced my lips, and my eyes caught a small, sparkly item on the coffee table. A birthday card; I grinned. They hadn't forgotten. Mom followed my eyes and squeaked before bolting over and snatching it up.

"You never saw this!" She insisted, tucking it away in the drawer of the computer desk. "Your father would just kill me if he knew you saw that before tomorrow." She pressed her fingers to her lips and pointed to the ground, indicating that he was in the basement, right under our feet.

I made a face of comprehension and sidled over to the stairs, intending to see how he was doing. I found him reclining in an armchair reading The New York Times, the dedicated business man that he was.

"Yo!" I greeted as he turned a page. Upon recognizing me he smiled and straightened up in his chair. "Welcome home, Jolie." He said in his thick, deep voice. My father was born in Italy and had a natural accent from growing up there. I kissed his cheek as he tilted his head towards me and helped him stand. Dad swayed slightly and I was hit by a wave of fear. He couldn't be that sick…but yet here he was, only forty years old and already needing a cane to walk. I didn't understand it. My grandfather didn't need a cane yet, and God, he was almost seventy.

_Maybe it's nerves._ I thought, my hope waning. _Stress, possibly. _When I stretched my memory, I remembered the first time my mother had collapsed of exhaustion onto our living room floor from only walking down the driveway to get the mail. Since when does that _ever_ happen to a thirty-seven year old woman? I had blamed it on dehydration or humidity then, but now I was quite certain that this was not the case. I could also recall the first time my father showed signs of an illness, when he tripped on a pair of shoes left in the hallway and broke a leg. He had been using a wheel chair for about six months, and then it was the cane ever since then. _How could someone break their legs by tripping over shoes?_ I remembered wondering. I had witnessed his fall, and it hadn't been a very hard one. It was as if my parents were slowly growing older at the pace that dogs and cats did. They were becoming so fragile and tired.

Hearing more or my mother's strained hacking noises from up the stairs, I steadied Dad and reached for his cane. He playfully swatted away my hand, and I sighed. Ever since his accident he had insisted on not being treated like someone who couldn't take care of himself. Pride runs in the family.

As he ritually tapped the ground with the cane twice and ventured towards the stairs, I ran behind him in case he fell. He glanced back, irritated, but did not shoo me away. Sometimes he's smart and understands that safety overrides pride.

Pride is an issue. Besides Dana, only one other person knows of my parents' illnesses – Chase, my very dear male comrade. _Not_ a boyfriend, mind you; I've only had one boyfriend before in my entire life. I've known Chase for the longest time, compared to Dana whom I only just got to know during the last school year. It's such a complicated issue to talk about to other people that I just never talk about it at all. Isn't bottling up your feelings a bad thing? Ah well. The point is, I'm a killer actress. It's so easy to lie to my friends and tell them I have a babysitting job or that I'm grounded for blowing off my chores – how could I explain that I'm taking care of my parents who have come down with some kind of crippling _diseases _that eighty year olds get?

Dad slowly ascended the stairs, his cane reaching out and helping him along. When he approached the ground floor and I saw that mom was holding out a hand to steady him, I retreated back down to the basement and into a little nook where we kept my piano. Sitting on the cushioned seat in front of it, I stretched out my fingers along the keys, silently rehearsing the music I was planning to play. When I was ready, Moonlight Sonata flowed from my fingertips and into the dim room, emphasizing the dreary atmosphere of the day and for some reason, it gave me a foreboding feeling. My heart began to twist.

* * *

At dinner that night, my parents pulled out a small box and handed it to me.

"We couldn't wait!" Mom squealed happily. I had specifically instructed them to not buy me gifts (money wasn't tight, but it wasn't there to burn), but nonetheless, I was pleased.

"I told you guys not to get me anything!" I pouted playfully, turning the box nimbly in my hands.

"We could always take it back," Dad suggested, lifting a hand to take the box back.

"No, no, I'll keep it…" I said quickly, curiosity getting the better of me. Carefully slipping the lid off the box, I sorted through the paper and promptly silenced, eyes growing round. Inside there was an antique ring, its silver band that criss-crossing and imitating ivy leaves. A jewel resembling a crystallized lily was centered at the top; diamonds were set all around it. Like my mother's eyes, the gleaming stones shone brightly and assuredly held all the colors of the world.

"…Are they real?" I asked stupidly, and then realized how greedy I must have sounded.

"I'm glad you asked," Dad said, peering from the ring, to me, and back. "It is very old, hundreds of years old. It was said to have come from a beautiful queen who crossed the seas, and when she died, the ring was forgotten. Pure silver and real diamonds."

I gasped, placing the ring back into the box and leaning into my chair, surprised. "No way," I breathed, moving my head closer to examine it. "That's really…wow."

Mom and Dad chuckled at my stupor, and were unprepared when I suddenly jumped up from the table and squished them both together in a gigantic hug. "Thank you so much!" I said in pure, uncontrollable joy. Mom smiled with those perfect, white, shiny teeth and rubbed my back. "I'm glad you like it," She said softly.

"We are very grateful to you, Jolie." Dad said, smiling. "You deserve far more than this for being so helpful. We would do anything for you."

I beamed and reached into the small box, extracted the ring, and placed it on my ring finger. A little small. I moved it to my index finger, which fit much better, and extended my hand slightly to gaze at it. I decided then and there that I would never take it off.

* * *

The howling winter wind beckoned at my window as I curled up in my heavy down comforter and tried to sleep. Every scrape of a tree branch against the house and creak in the floorboards seemed to be amplified by a hundred, and I felt like a small child hearing monsters go "bump" in the night. Eventually, sleep overtook me and I lapsed into dreams of warm sea breezes and ageless sands.

I awoke shivering at one in the morning, not to wind or mom's coughing, but to silence. This was odd, since mom usually coughed a lot off and on during the night and I would wake up to hear Dad comforting her until she stopped. But this time I heard nothing, and I _never_ awoke in the middle of the night for nothing. Frowning, I quietly crawled out of bed and tiptoed into the hall bathroom, shutting the door gently and flipping the light switch on.

For a startling moment, I thought I saw someone else's reflection in the mirror instead of mine – it looked like me, only aged and weathered down, cold and ashen. It looked like my mother.

I jumped, and all that remained of the vision was my racing heart. Something was wrong.

Eyes narrowed with concern, I opened the door and stepped out into the hall, intent on checking with my parents. As I reached their room, I felt a tug at my insides – a puppet master manipulating my nerves. I listened for movement. There was none, and I opened the door a crack. I saw my parent's sleeping forms, a slight smile on mom's face and contentment in dad's open eyes.

_Wait. _

Open eyes? Was he awake? If he was, he wasn't doing much. My anxiety grew as I slowly ventured over to my parent's bed, leaving the door halfway open. I peered down into mom's face. She looked fine, and I cautiously lifted a hand to her cheek. I recoiled sharply. Her skin was as cold as ice and gray, nearly blue. Checking her blankets to see if they had any holes, my eyes moved down to her chest region and watched it for a few seconds in a kind of contained horror.

She was not breathing.

Thoroughly shaken up, I put my ear next her mouth and listened for a breath. There was none. Quickly, I laid my head onto her chest to listen to the weak, yet steady rhythm of her heartbeat. I heard nothing. Panicking, I turned to dad, whose eyes were still wide open.

"Dad, something's wrong," I whispered. A sick feeling came over me as I realized that he was not responding either. "Dad?" I moved to the other side of the bed and checked him over in the same way I had with mom. His hands were placed strangely; one hand reaching out to my mother, the other clutched almost dramatically to his heart. Had it been a heart attack?

I slowly backed away from the scene, something so real it must have been concocted from a nightmare. My eyes watered with unshed tears as I placed my hand over my mouth, registering the entirety of the situation.

I blinked, and a tear ran down my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I'm a firm believer in the soul. The soul knows more than we could ever hope and the soul always, always watches. That is why I forced myself to look up at their cold, dead forms and whispered so as not to disturb them:

"I love you."

And then I rushed from the room, fearing I would be ill.

* * *

**NOTE**: I hope no one thinks that I made_ major_ changes in this chapter, because boy, you won't be able to deal with the extreme makeovers I'll be doing with others! There are some sections I just want to re-do completely, and some chapters I might just leave out all together. Time will tell. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed and if anyone wants to see the original, just look up my old profile, Lil-Hellraiser, and there it shall be.

Thank you for everyone for your patience!

**And don't forget to spread the word!** **I AM BACK!**


	2. How to Deal

**Something Special - REVISED**

**Author**: Lil-Hellraiser (originally)/Little Yellow Tiki Hut

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing that you recognize from the books. Or anything else for that matter.

**Author's Note**: If you want to see the original, visit my old account name, **Lil-Hellraiser**, and it is still there. As soon as I activate my old email account, **I will be shutting that fanfiction account down**. And now, Operation Revision is commencing on Chapter 2. As I edit I wonder one thing: why the HELL did I write these out so long in the first place? This particular chapter is SO long, AND a mine field of mistakes! I think I managed to shave off about three pages. I can't WAIT to revise Chapter 12. Ugh.

Take a lesson. Don't do this.

* * *

If I had gotten my way, I wouldn't have attended my parent's funerals. It was a chilly, windy Saturday afternoon when I walked with Chase down to where the service would be held, and with every step I took I felt as if my heart were breaking.

"You're bothered," He stated. I glanced at him. I forgot how easily he could read me.

"I'm just stressed out," I said tiredly, half-heartedly kicking up a mound of powdery snow from the sidewalk. He straightened his tie and I felt a strain at my heartstrings. He was sixteen, and had only recently learned how to properly wear a tie. My dad had taught him.

He caught my eyes and attempted a comforting smile. I attempted one as well.

"I loved them, Jolie…more than you or anyone else ever knew," He said, a vision of masculinity with his head turned to the sun and hands in his pockets. It struck me as something unfamiliar: Chase was never one to express his feelings. His eyes were uncomfortable. I reached out for his arm.

"Thank you," I replied, my voice quivering. He looked at me, weary. The fragile smiles on our faces faded. He then blinked his eyes.

"Ow," He complained, squeezing them shut, then reopening them. A flash of light was crossing his face over and over. I looked down at my hand to see the diamonds in my ring reflecting the sunlight right into his pupils.

"What's that?" He asked, shading his eyes and peering in closer. "A ring?"

When I nodded and brought it up closer for him to examine, he whistled. "They outdid themselves. It's gorgeous. And it suits you."

* * *

Dana squeezed my hand reassuringly as I watched my parent's coffins sit silently beside their grave plots. The pastor was speaking passionately and convincingly about heaven and earth, God, and eternal salvation from pain while various members of the large crowd gathered around cried and blew into tissues. Every few minutes I would drift away from his dialogue and softly twirl two red roses in my other hand.

"…lead us not to temptation, but deliver us from evil."

I raised my head in time to catch the end of the Lord's Prayer. The circle was folding back now, into a line, and those with flowers in their hands tearfully placed them onto the coffins with pale, shivering hands. I let go of Dana and moved forward, placing my own roses onto the smooth black surfaces, grazing the wood with my fingers. Were they really in there? It was so hard to believe it. My hands began to sweat, and with a final look, I turned away.

When the ordeal was all over, many people I didn't know came up and hugged me, some tighter than others. Dana stayed for a few minutes, but had to get going, so I watched her leave sadly. Chase kept me company, watching the coffins being lowered into the earth and topped with cement so that no perverts could get to them or anything. He sighed as the dirt was dumped over the concrete and the gravediggers left their posts, their empty machines resembling wretched fossilized dinosaurs. For a long time we said nothing.

"My parents gave me a cool present too." He said suddenly, as if just remembering something extremely important. He reached into his pocket and took out a ring. "Not for my birthday, but remember when I had that accident?" I eyed him suspiciously. Chase had been in a car accident about six months prior and never had he mentioned any presents. He had been thankful to be alive – his rehabilitation was simply torture.

"They gave me this, and I prayed every night and every morning that I would get better. I think it worked." My eyes narrowed as I examined the ring. It was pure gold with an enormous deep blue stone in the center. It was nowhere near as ornate as mine, but it seemed just as old and instilled with a regal energy. He sighed as he looked at it.

"This may sound weird, but," He slipped it on his finger. "Whenever I wear it, I feel like I'm part of something bigger." His face tinged pink. "It's stupid, I know, but…if you really pay attention, you might feel it too."

As strange as it sounded, I understood completely. My shock must have registered on my face because he let out a breath of relief.

"I thought I was crazy," He murmured, letting out a small laugh. I smiled in reply and we watched a few middle-schoolers bolt by on their bicycles, drifting along on the slush.

"I have to go live with my aunt and uncle." I remembered suddenly. "They're in Oakland." We lived in Nebraska, in a town way out in the west. I saw sadness in his eyes.

"You're leaving so soon?"

"Next weekend. I need time to pack and stuff. I want you and Dana to come over tomorrow and pack with me, okay? I'll need help." Chase nodded wordlessly. The boys disappeared around a corner and a hatchback drove by, hot air puffing from the exhaust. In the midst of the frigid air, Chase pulled me into a gripping hug.

"I don't know what to say to you," He began, fingers raking across my shoulders gently. "But can I just hug you like this for now? Relate to you?" I pulled back, arms still around him, and looked up into his eyes. They were reddening, on the verge of tearing up, and my face contorted into a silent expression of grief. I buried my head into his neck, patting his back. We stood embracing for who knows how long among the tombstones and abandoned machinery before the cold forced us apart and we decided to leave. We walked back to my house in silence and he left me on the front porch, a sad figure in black in the doorway watching her dearest friend depart from her life forever. Despite his promise to stop by Dana's and remind her to stop by, I could not help thinking that I would not see him again for a long time.

I went straight to the basement, playing random chords and compilations over and over on my piano. Night slowly fell, and I eventually laid my head down on the keys and entered a deep sleep.

* * *

The agony withering inside me after a phone call the next day was too much to bear.

Chase was gone. No one knew what happened to him; he never made it home that Saturday. On Sunday morning I called Dana, confused as to why neither of them had showed up at my house to help pack, but she confusedly pointed out that she had no idea she was supposed to come; Chase never came to her house. His parents called me shortly after, panicked, asking if he was with me. Feeling like I had been punched in the gut, I told them I would keep an eye out for him.

I looked everywhere, our favorite childhood hiding places, old trees where we used to make little clubs, and quiet places where we could just talk and hang out with sodas or snacks. He was nowhere. By the end of the day, the police were involved and searches were being organized. To make matters worse, Dana was moving to Europe, due to her father's military unit being reassigned.

Amidst all these changes, I hardly wanted to move in with my aunt and uncle. They lived too far away, and I wanted to stay and search. Dividing my time between searching and packing didn't really leave much time for good-byes either. I was taking what I could to their house, and selling the rest. I gave important things to my grandparents, such as furniture, but some large things I couldn't part with, like my piano and harp. I _refused_ to leave without them. My parent's large sword was also a keeper. It hung over the mantle in all it's shiny glory, and as far as I knew, it was only for decoration. But it had been sitting there for as long as I can remember, so parting with it was just not an option. I took that, along with my bedspread, dresser, books, and everything dear to me, like pictures. The day before I left, I had a huge yard-sale. Everyone bought something, and the stuff that wasn't sold I gave to miscellaneous friends as gifts. I held on to the money I made, though it wasn't that big a deal to me. I was more concerned with getting rid of the stuff.

Chase was never found. I heard through the grapevine that about three months after he disappeared they stopped searching, expecting him long lost. I cried for weeks on end, corresponding with Dana frequently. The letters grew shorter, emails were scarcer, and then one day we just stopped talking. It took years for the grief to end.

* * *

**Three years later**

"Are you finished with your homework?"

I looked up from my nearly complete math homework and assessed my aunt's pale, meek face. "Yes," I replied, closing the book. One problem left unfinished never hurt anyone.

My aunt was very petite and lithe, but the beauty once seen in her face had been chiseled away with age. She never yelled or screamed, and always had the house spotless. What always puzzled me was that no matter what, she always let someone walk all over her – mostly my uncle.

Uncle Chris was an alcoholic, and not the nice type that mopes around the house and sits in endless silence, but the rude, borderline violent type. I managed to stay out of his way, but upon first moving in, I was not so lucky. My room was my sanctuary during those first few, rough months as I acclimated to my new home.

Speak of the devil – there he was. Rocky, the pit bull was following in his wake, slobbering onto his own grubby paws with every trod. I hastily gathered my books and attempted to leave the room before he found something to say to me.

"Hey, you," He called, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out a beer. I faced him at once, knowing that ignoring him would only make him irate.

"A boy came over yesterday," He drawled, then took a long sip. "Blonde and tall, preppy lookin'. He asked for you."

My heart leapt.

"I dunno what he called himself," He continued, watching my face. Rocky toddled over to me and sat his butt down on my shoes. "It started with a C," He scratched his head and a dash of hope formed within me. "No, not a C. It was Steven. That was him."

My disappointment must have been obvious. I lightly shoved Rocky off my feet; I must have accidentally hit a sore spot because he let out a yelp and darted under the kitchen table. My uncle reared on me.

"Why'd you kick him?" He asked menacingly. My aunt stood behind him, not daring to say a word.

"I moved him, I didn't kick him," I corrected, looking him in the eye boldly, but inside just terrified.

"He's hurt," my uncle contended, downing the rest of the beer angrily and tossing it aside. Aunt Diana didn't blink as I sent a small, pleading glance her way. Why did she have to be so nervous?

"He's fine," I said, slowly backing up. "Look, he's fine." Rocky was coming out from the table, his 2-minute memory erasing the small shove off my feet. He looked happier than ever. Uncle Chris, on the other hand, was enraged.

"We let you come in here," He began, his face reddening. "We let you come in here, we take you in, we give you a roof to sleep under, we keep you safe and you go off and do something like this!"

"I've never hurt the dog before!" I argued, though I knew it was pointless. "This is the first time I've ever had a problem with him!"

"Just get out of here," He said, waving his hand back at me and pulling a chair out. "Di, what's cooking?" She was quiet, watching me watch him. He grew impatient and angrily shoved the chair back under the table.

"_You_–" He pointed to me, "Get going! And _you_–" He rounded on my aunt, who was much closer. "I _asked_ you a goddamn question!" At this point, I scrammed, walking swiftly down the long hallway to my small, plain room. As I entered, I noticed a yellow envelope that I opened earlier that day at school; it was decorated with sequins and stars. In glitter gel was the phrase "Happy 1-7!" and someone had drawn on party balloons with sharpies. I merely glanced at it before flopping down on to my bed, listening to my uncle shout.

* * *

It was nearly nine at night when I left my room, hungry and bored. When I entered the kitchen, I saw my aunt sitting at the table, facing the window, looking lost in deep thought. Her hair was down and she didn't look a thing like my mom, but she did look aged and worn-out.

"Is there anything to heat up?" I asked uncomfortably. She didn't speak. I asked again, but it didn't elicit a different reaction. Sighing, I dug into the cabinets for cereal or maybe even some soup to microwave. Then I heard a small sob. I reeled around and saw my aunt moving her hair back, a lone tear dripping down her face. Peering closer, I realized that she had been punched.

"Hey," I whispered, hurrying over. Her face looked pulverized – a bruise decorated her left eye and her cheeks were red and raw. "Did he do this?" I asked quietly. She made no answer.

"Oh my God," I said, the implications dawning on me. Panic began to rush into my brain. "Where is he now?" Again, she made no attempt to speak. I eyed her with frustration. It wasn't safe here anymore. With small, light footsteps, I rushed back to my room to prepare for my own hasty retreat.

I yanked out a huge camping backpack and my purse and packed everything I could into them – clothes, iPod, toiletries, trinkets, makeup, jewelry, books. What do you take with you when you run away?

I couldn't take my piano or my harp; they had been hauled into the day I moved in because there was no space for them anywhere else. An infuriated tear escaped my eye when I thought of leaving them behind. But I could always come back for them. Now I just needed to get my aunt and I out safely.

I reached under the mattress of my bed and extracted my parents' sword. It was still in perfect shape, untouched and unscathed. There was no scabbard to hold it in, so I folded it up within the sheets of my bed and carried it in my hands. As I glanced around my room one last time, I caught my reflection in the dresser mirror.

My wavy red hair had become more manageable with age, and was now slightly past my shoulders, accentuating my ovular face and round cinnamon eyes. My features had matured to those of a young woman, and for a moment I turned my head this way and that, peering at my jaw line and profile. With a sigh, I looked down at my ring, which within the last year or so I moved to my ring finger. It pulsed slightly, as I was used to. Believing that I had everything, I lugged my backpack onto my shoulders, stuck my purse onto my arm, held the sword to my chest, and returned to the kitchen. My aunt was sitting in the same spot I had left her.

"Aren't you going?" I asked, incredulous. She looked at me with sad, defeated eyes.

"You need to get help!" I whispered harshly to her, setting my sword down on the table and crouching down to speak to her more quietly. "We have to get out of here, Diana. He's only going to get worse." She made no noise, only looked at me again with those sad, sad eyes. My heart was pounding and I heard a creak from the next room.

"Diana, come with me," I hissed, pulling my sword down and moving lower to the ground. "I'm not joking, we have to leave _now_!" Another creak, nearer this time. The back door was nearest to me, and in terror I jumped up and hastily made my way to it.

"If you don't want to leave, that's your problem," I said roughly, unlocking it with one free hand as I eyed the kitchen doorway. "But I'm getting the hell out while I still can." I opened the door and cringed; it made a long, drawn out squeak of complaint. My uncle entered the room, drunk as ever and looking very agitated. I bolted like a bat out of hell.

Was he following me? I didn't know for sure – it was sapping all my strength to run with all the extra weight on my shoulders and the chilly wind blew against me, howling deafeningly in my small ears.

To avoid being seen, I cut through a neighbor's backyard and into a small patch of woods behind their house. I'd been in them before and knew how to navigate them by heart.

The wind died down as I walked through the tall, leafy foliage. The moon lazily drifted out from behind a few rain clouds and I shivered as the temperature dropped a few more degrees. Suddenly, something just didn't seem right.

_Am I going the right way? _Because something was definitely different.

Suddenly a huge black figure emerged from the trees and ran towards me. I cried out in surprise and ran as fast as I could go, stumbling in the half-darkness over roots and rocks.

I thought I was being chased by a serial killer, and the panic I felt increased tenfold. I was going to be murdered and chopped up and potentially eaten. With a painful thud, I landed on the freezing earth, tripped by a fallen tree branch.

_Oh God, it's all over…_

The thing got close to my face. It growled. Its breath smelled horrible and I turned my head away in fear, not wanting to see its face. I screamed.

It forced my hands down and I looked right into its eyes. The whites of its eyes weren't exactly white; they were yellow, sallow even. The skin all around it was pitch black, and it had a mop of black hair atop its misshapen head. I saw fangs. A helpless sob escaped me.

Just as the thing brought my face closer, a bright light came out of nowhere. It shrieked, emitting a horrible sound, and fell over, twitching. I thought it was knocked out or possibly dead, but I had watched enough horror movies to know _not_ to check. I immediately scrambled up and ran.

After running for at least fifteen minutes and seeing no end to these supposedly small woods, I threw my backpack and purse down upon the ground and slumped onto them, exhausted and scared. Only a soft, perfect glow on my hand caught my attention. The ring pulsed.

_I want to be gone._ I thought, holding it close to me, hiccupping and sniffling. _I want to be somewhere where none of this existed. I just want to go home._

Its warm light caressed me as I was blanketed with an unexpected sheet of oblivion.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Done with the Chapter 2 revision. Oh yes, many things were changed here. The main changes were:

-Jolie's aunt is nice and the uncle is just a mean alcoholic as opposed to both of them just being really pissy.

-I completely cut out the funeral speech.

I think what I omitted and what I put in are better for the storyline in the long run. The new details are there for a reason.


End file.
